Entropy
by Micky Fine
Summary: Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold. - W.B. Yeats. Post-ep 6.1.


**Entropy**

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold" – W. B. Yeats

He couldn't remember when they'd had the discussion or why. Maybe he'd said something about there being an overarching plan for everyone. The context had been lost to him but he could still hear her voice stating so emphatically, "Everything tends towards entropy, Booth. It's in the Second Law of Thermodynamics." He'd argued with her for maybe fifteen minutes on the issue and then just given up. Temperance Brennan was far too stubborn to be swayed on such an issue. Particularly when she had Newtonian physics to back her up.

Sitting alone in his dark and empty apartment, he suddenly wondered if maybe she had been right. The idea that everything in the universe tended towards disorder and chaos seemed far more feasible at this moment. Especially since everything in his life that he'd counted on had fallen apart.

The cracks had started slowly. He'd returned to Washington D.C. and met his former partner just as they'd planned. They had sat and talked about their time apart and she had seemed just like his same old Bones. Sure her hair had changed a little and she was a little more tan, but she looked the same. Looking back now, he thought that maybe there had been a slightly different expression around her eyes when she'd looked at him. A soft sparkle that hadn't been there before. But perhaps it was just hind sight. Whatever the case, there had definitely been a subtle change in her expression when he'd told her that he'd found love while he'd been away. She'd turned her face away for just a moment and when she looked back at him her smile felt forced.

The cracks had started appearing more quickly after that. First she stopped going to the diner for pie after they finished a case. Then she stopped going to the diner altogether after she caught him kissing his newest flame there. He'd been too immersed in his own life to push her as to why. He'd accepted her answer that she was trying to decrease her fat intake, even though he knew she was lying. She stopped coming to their sessions with Sweets and shortly afterwards she began to step away from doing field work. Soon she had her newest intern fielding all her calls at work and her home phone and cell always went straight to voicemail. At this point, Booth knew something was horrifically wrong but he couldn't identify what he'd done or how to fix it. He'd tried asking Angela but she had just shrugged and told him that if he couldn't figure it out, he wasn't the man she'd thought he was.

A few days afterwards, Brennan had submitted a letter to the Deputy Director requesting a severing of all ties between herself and the FBI. Faint alarm bells that he'd shoved to the back of his mind before were now clanging loudly. The Deputy Director was clamouring to know what the hell was going on and Booth had no answers. He called Cam, who told him that she respected Dr Brennan's decision and that she would not force her colleague into a working relationship to which she objected. When he'd used the old line of good publicity for the Jeffersonian that had always worked with Dr Goodman, Cam had responded that Dr Brennan's general reputation garnered enough media attention and funding to last their department at least five years. And then she'd told him he was an idiot and hung up.

Yesterday, skeletal remains had been found on the grounds of the FBI Academy at Quantico. His boss was immediately in a frenzy. To have a body show up on their home turf did not look good and Booth was instructed to get the case cleared up as quickly and quietly as possible. A quick look at the crime scene photos had convinced him that there was only one person who could resolve the case efficiently. Mustering all the charm he had in his possession, he'd headed off to the Jeffersonian.

Going through the sliding doors into the lab, Booth realised it had been over a month since he'd set foot on the premises. He was suddenly swept with a feeling of nostalgia which grew more intense when he caught sight of his former partner striding around the lab platform, examining a set of remains. Approaching the base of the stairs, he swiped his entrance card and was astounded when the post did not chirp. He tried again with the same result. He felt a spark of annoyance rise up within him and he bounded up the stairs, setting of the alarms, ready to have it out with the forensic anthropologist.

Temperance turned in annoyance at having her work disturbed and her expression hardened when she saw him.

"Special Agent Booth," she said curtly, and promptly turned her back on him.

The formality of her greeting immediately irked him but instead of lashing out, he took a deep breath to calm himself. If he wanted her to cooperate, he knew he'd have a better chance if he didn't lose his temper. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cam, Hodgins, and Angela gathered in a corner opposite the platform. All three of them wore similar expressions of sympathy. In his gut, he knew that boded ill.

"You cancelled my access card?" he asked, trying to keep his tone even.

"As we are no longer in an active working relationship, you do not require access to the platform," she replied in the clipped, clinical tone that had driven him crazy in the early days of their relationship.

"Logical," Booth replied, pushing his simmering temper away and pulling out the charm.

"Did you come here for a particular reason, Agent Booth?"

"Yeah. I need you to come to Quantico with me."

"For what purpose?"

"There were some remains found and I need to clear the case up quickly. Which means I need you," Booth said, using the full power of his charm smile.

Temperance glared at him.

"You can put your charm smile away. I am far too busy to be dragged off on yet another FBI investigation that will consume my time and energies," she said and then turned her back on him.

"Aw c'mon, Bones, I really need your help here," he wheedled.

With a speed that startled him, Brennan whirled on him and spat out vehemently, "Do NOT call me Bones!"

Stunned, Booth watched as she stripped off her gloves with far more force than necessary and then practically ran off the platform to her office, slamming the door behind her. He stared at her office door, bewildered and a little frightened. Seemingly without warning, his partner had reverted back to the behaviours that she had used as a barrier in the early days of their partnership. What the hell had happened?

With trepidation, he turned to see if the squints were still in their cluster. While Cam and Hodgins had dispersed, Angela had remained. She gave him a sad smile when he caught her eye. Descending the steps slowly, he approached the artist.

"Hey Booth," she said, as he got within speaking distance.

"Angela, what the..." he began but stopped when she rose her hand.

"Sweetie, she's my best friend. I love her. And you used to. You wouldn't have had to ask before and now that you are, I can't tell you. You have to figure this out on your own and then decide if you actually want to fix it."

"Of course, I want to fix it," he said.

"Then you shouldn't have let it get so broken," Angela said sadly, as she turned away.

Booth floundered for a moment. He needed to get to work on this case, but apparently he wouldn't be able until he repaired whatever had gone wrong between him and Brennan. And there he was stuck. He knew automatically, that another exchange with the forensic anthropologist would not be a good idea at this moment. So what could he do instead? Struck by inspiration, he rushed out of the lab.

Swinging open the door to Sweets' office, he disregarded the younger man's mumbling about appointments, and flopped onto the couch.

"You need to fix, Bones."

Sweets looked at him with no expression for a moment and then began to speak.

"Dr. Brennan severed her ties with FBI. I'm an FBI psychologist. Unless she's a suspect, I have no reason to interact with her."

"Sure, but Bones wouldn't have severed her ties with the FBI under regular circumstances. So you go talk to her and make everything normal again."

"What do you mean by normal, Agent Booth?"

"Oh don't try shrinking me."

Sweets simply gazed at him.

"Oh fine. I mean, I want things back to the way they were before we had our seven months apart."

"You mean, when things were awkward due to her rejection of your romantic offer and you were miserable?"

Booth winced.

"No, before that."

"Oh, when you both were sublimating your romantic feelings for each other and you were miserable."

"Ok, I was not miserable then and no."

"Oh, so then you must mean the period of time when she used her intellect and emotional detachment as a barrier between you and tried to avoid engaging into a real relationship with you."

"Yes! No, wait no. That's what she did today."

"And that bothered you?"

"Yes! She actually told me not to call her Bones!"

"That seems logical."

"What the hell do you mean that it's logical? I've called her Bones for almost six years now and she hasn't complained for over five."

"So you're saying she reverted back to an earlier behaviour?"

"Yes."

"Well isn't that what you've done?"

"What are you talking about, Sweets?"

"When you returned from Afghanistan, did you not go back to treating Dr. Brennan simply as a work associate?"

"No, I treated her as my friend."

"Wouldn't you say, Agent Booth, that friends are cognizant of the feelings of the other?"

"Yes."

"And yet you ignored the many signals Dr. Brennan gave you that would have indicated that she was unhappy. Not the actions typical of a friend. This indifference indicates that you had reverted to the earliest phase of your relationship and that she has simply mirrored your actions."

"What signals are you talking about?"

Sweets actually glared at the Special Agent.

"Seeley Booth, stop being such an obtuse idiot. Dr. Brennan came back from Indonesia with a greater awareness of her feelings for you and a willingness to explore a new relationship with you. And you crushed her by telling her you'd found love in the seventh months you'd been apart. You did exactly what I told you not to. You told her you loved her and then changed your mind."

"She told me to!" Booth shouted. "We stood outside this building and she told me she'd never be able to love me the way I deserved. So I moved on and found some happiness."

"That's great. So why does Dr. Brennan matter then? Why do I need to 'fix her' as you put it?"

"Because she's not acting like my Bones!"

"Yes, well, you gave up the rights to that endearment didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You found love. You moved on."

"But she's still my Bones. She's still my friend."

"Is she?"

"Yes!"

"Booth think about this seriously. She's been withdrawing from your relationship for months and you did nothing to stop it. What kind of friend allows that?"

"I... I screwed up, alright. But you can still fix it."

"No, Booth. I didn't break it and you're not willing to go back to the place where you can fix it."

"What do you mean?"

"She loves you. You don't love her. So she's drawn back to a position where you can't hurt her any more than you already have. Barring an extreme input of energy on your part, I'm afraid your relationship has reached a state of entropy."

Booth slumped back on the couch.

"I can't do that," he said quietly.

"Well then, you're stuck with the personality to which Dr. Brennan has reverted."

Booth felt broken. It was possible he felt worse at this moment than he had in the moment when Bones had rejected him. All that effort he had put in breaking down the walls with which Temperance had surrounded herself had been wasted. She had built them back up and reinforced them. Suddenly, he realised he had damaged her almost as badly as her family had done. He'd thrown away her confidences and her faith in him with no regard for the consequences.

"I feel sick," he muttered quietly.

"Irrevocably screwing up another human being will do that to you," Sweets said unsympathetically.

Booth winced as the verbal barb drove home. In silence, he gathered himself together and left Sweets' office. Taking the elevator up to his boss' office, he submitted a verbal request to recruit the forensic anthropologist in New York to aid in the case, as Dr. Brennan had reiterated her desire not to work with the FBI. His request had been granted.

He'd gone home, had a shot of Scotch, and then collapsed into his couch. He hadn't moved since. It was almost five in the morning and he hadn't slept. From the moment he'd met Temperance Brennan, he'd been convinced that she would always be in his life. He had never thought that that presence would be the aching hole in his chest made up of guilt and regret. Everything had fallen apart.


End file.
